CS Odds and Ends
by thesoundingsea
Summary: This is just a random collection of Captain Swan drabbles and oneshots. Rating varies.
1. Chapter 1

**This was a tumblr prompt: "For Captain Swan I want someone wrapped in a blanket and being fed soup."**

**As soon as I read the prompt, this popped into my head, so I ran with it. It's all sorts of warm and fuzzy. Hope you like it!**

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"Killian, you have to eat _something_."

"I'm not hungry, Swan."

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes when Killian wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, tucking his arms against his sides and laying his head against the back of the couch with a groan. Either he'd never had a cold in his life, or he was terrible at being sick, because she'd never seen a man go from dashing hero to depressed sickling in such a short amount of time. He even had the blanket pulled up over his head, bundled from head to toe. If he hadn't been so ill, it might have been funny.

"So I'm back to Swan now, huh?"

He grunted, settling his head deeper into the sofa, and said, his voice coming out low and scratchy and pitifully congested, "Until you stop trying to force feed me, yes."

Emma set the bowl of soup on the table and maneuvered herself closer so she could take his face in both hands and tilt it toward hers. He looked a wreck. His nose was bright red, his skin pale, his lips were dry, and his eyes were tired, void of that brilliance that made it seem like, when she looked at him, she was staring at the ocean before a storm.

"Hey," she said, putting one hand to his forehead to check his temperature. "Look at me, Killian." He grudgingly forced his eyes open, and she smiled at him. "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal."

Sicker than hell he may be, but he was still a pirate at heart, and the idea of a bargain seemed to be just the thing. He quirked an eyebrow and said, "What sort of deal?" It was the first time in four days that his eyes had shown a spark of life in them, and it made her heart jump a little.

She reached over and picked up the bowl of soup, ignoring the way he groaned and glared at it, and said, "I'm going to feed you this soup, and you're going to sit here like a good pirate and eat it. And in return, I'm going to tell you a story."

She practically had the thing memorized—most of it, anyway, and she was pretty sure that she could fill in the gaps that she couldn't remember perfectly. She'd seen the damn movie enough times, right? And it always made _her_ feel better when she was sick.

"Swan…" Killian began, but Emma held up the spoon to silence him.

"I'm not finished. This story is actually kinda special to me. And I think you'll actually like it, once you've heard it." She knew she had him on the fence, could see the wheels turning in his mind. Their relationship was new, still just the blossom of something beautiful—it had taken every ounce of persuasion she had to convince him to _let_ her take care of him—and this little deal of hers meant progress, a step forward. The sharing of something meaningful.

He licked his lips. He sniffed a few times. He stared at the bowl of chicken noodle soup in her hands, at the smile on her face, at the sparkle in her eyes, and he relented.

"Fine," he said.

Emma's grin widened, and she scooted closer to him, cross-legged as she was, until her knees were resting against him. He leaned into her a little and she brought up the first spoonful, holding the bowl beneath to catch any drips. The moment he closed his lips over the spoon, their eyes met, and the intimacy of the act hit her hard and made her pause, her fingers suddenly trembling. It must have affected him as well, because his eyes never left hers as he chewed, swallowed, and opened his mouth again.

She stared at him for a long moment, until finally he said, "Emma?" and raised an eyebrow at her, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward. "I believe you promised me some entertainment, love."

Shaking herself, Emma said, "Right, yeah. Okay, so…" She could just as easily have popped in the DVD and let him watch it, but she liked the way he was looking at her now, life coming back to his eyes as he watched her and waited.

_Now, how the hell does it start?_

She lifted the spoon to Killian's mouth again and caught sight of the tattoo at her wrist.

_Oh, right._

Clearing her throat, scooting just that much closer to him, she began.

"Buttercup was raised on a small farm, in the country of Florin…"

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**Like I said, sweet and fluffy goodness! **

**Review?**


	2. It's All About Timing

**You guys are awesome, thanks for the faves and follows! :D**

**I had to bump up the rating for this one because of language. Plus I'm pretty sure there's going to be smut at some point, it's unavoidable. :) **

**This is another tumblr prompt for Emma defending Killian, or having a private moment in front of everyone in Neverland. I think it's basically both.**

**Big thank you to Chinx for reading it to make sure it made sense.**

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Neal shook his head. "We can't go that way, there's a cliff that runs through here. We'd have to go around."

Emma did a miserable job of holding in a frustrated sigh, rubbing her hand over her forehead and staring down at the map like she could somehow force it to be more agreeable if she stared long enough. Cliffs here, impassable rivers there, Lost Boys camps scattered everywhere—there wasn't an inch of this whole damn island that she could work with, and Neal's constant interruptions weren't making the situation any easier. He'd already made it more than abundantly clear that he knew the island better than she did—better than they all did, save Hook, but the pirate was keeping his bloody mouth shut. The one time she wanted him to chime in, and he wasn't saying a word.

And why the hell was she saying _bloody_ all of a sudden?

Stupid pirate.

Stupid pirate and his stupid mouth and his stupid lips and his stupid words.

_You're staring again, Emma._

Shaking herself, Emma stood up and brushed the dirt from her knees. "Fine. We won't go that way. We'll just stay here, and not try _anything_, and let Henry find a way to save himself. How's that sound?"

"Emma, relax, I'm just saying—"

"Don't tell me to relax, Neal—every plan I've come up with you've shot down or ridiculed, and I'm tired of it. Henry is our son and he's alone out there and at least I'm _trying_!"

"So am I, but we have to be smart about this, Emma. Pan isn't going to make it easy for us."

"Yeah, no kidding. We've been here for a week and all we have to show for it is _you_."

She knew it was cruel, but she was tired of the bullshit. The chastising look in David's eyes made her blush, and the delighted smile on Regina's face made the guilt worse, but at that particular moment she really didn't care. All that mattered was Henry, and he was out there somewhere, alone with that little shit Pan and his band of twisted teenagers. Emma tried to take comfort in the fact that at least her son knew he wasn't alone—at least he knew they were there, that they were going to rescue him. She hoped it would give him strength, that it would be enough to give him some small degree of comfort, but the dark little piece of her heart that screamed _orphan_ told her nothing they did would be enough, that he was doomed to become one of Pan's Lost Boys no matter what they did.

"We could follow the river to the coast and go through the Black Caves."

It was the first time Hook had said anything since their little meeting had begun, so everyone turned to stare when he finally spoke. He gave a bored shrug and said, "It's a long journey, at least a day there and another day through the caves, but it's relatively safe."

"Safe?" Neal scoffed. "The caves are an endless maze, not to mention they're full of giant spiders. Or had you forgotten that? I know it's been a while since you've been here, Hook, maybe you should just leave the planning to me."

Hook's jaw tightened, and Emma saw his hook quiver imperceptibly before the point dug a little harder into the pirate's thigh.

Emma stepped between the two men. "Hang on a second, alright?" She looked to Hook, and his gaze immediately went from Neal to her, sapphire irises practically glowing in the firelight. It wasn't fair for a man to have eyes like that. They were distracting, they made her think about cuddling in bed on Sunday morning and late nights talking under the stars.

_When I win your heart, Emma…and I _will_ win it…_

Emma forced his voice out of her head. She didn't have time to be thinking about those things right now. "Hook, do you know the caves well enough to get us through?"

"Aye."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Can it, loverboy," Regina said, shooting Neal a glare that left him speechless. For a moment Emma thought the woman had used magic, but it seemed Neal was only intimidated into silence.

_Good_.

Emma gave Regina a brief, silent nod of thanks and started rolling up the map, tucking it into her back pocket. "Okay. Unless someone _other_ than Neal objects, we're going with Killian's idea and heading for the caves. You said a day there? So if we leave now we might reach the caves tonight, and maybe we can get to Pan's camp…by tomorrow…what? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Regina was grinning—usually not a good sign. David's eyebrows were raised almost as high as Mary Margaret's, though _her_ mouth was quirking toward a smile while David's was turning down into a slight scowl. Rumplestiltskin was cackling to himself in his corner of the clearing, and Tink was practically glowing with delight. Neal was glaring from Emma to Hook, whose expression was…

_Beautiful_.

There was no other way to describe it. His eyes went wide and he had a smile on his face that Emma had never seen before, like a man who was watching the sun rise for the first time, like he'd been wandering through an infinite desert and Emma was a secret oasis. Too happy to smile, too surprised to do anything but look over at her with eyes full of hope and longing and just the smallest hint of desire that made Emma's toes curl rather pleasantly in her boots.

"What? What's going on? Stop looking at me like that. It's a good idea, isn't it? I don't hear anyone else coming up with anything better…" she glanced around at the others, a little flustered and more than a little confused, feeling her face getting hotter by the second.

"You called me Killian."

It was quiet, too soft and far too intimate for how many people were around them, but when Emma's eyes locked with his they may as well have been alone for all the attention she paid the others.

"What?"

One corner of his mouth turned up. "You called me Killian."

Emma frowned and shook her head. "I…what? No, I didn't…when?"

"Just now, Emma," said Mary Margaret, and even though Emma couldn't tear her eyes from those startlingly blue depths that threatened to unhinge her, she could hear the smile in her mother's voice.

"I…well…"

If she could just stop looking at him she might be able to form coherent sentences, but at that moment nothing mattered as much as _looking_ at him, watching the way his entire countenance softened, the way he suddenly looked centuries younger, the way his smile slowly grew to mirror her own—_when had she started smiling at him?_—and the way her heart was suddenly racing when he let out a soft laugh, finally shattering the stillness.

Emma cleared her throat, ignoring the flush in her cheeks. She could feel it all the way to her toes and it made her want to fly, made her want to feel his leather jacket in her fingers again, feel the heat of his breath against her lips. "Well, it's his _name_, isn't it?" she finally said, folding her arms defensively. "I mean…if it wasn't for him, we'd probably all be dead. David would be, for certain. I think the least we can do is start calling him by his _name_. Now, let's just…everybody pack up, we need to get going."

No one said anything. Neal left first, muttering under his breath, and one by one the others all followed suit, retiring to their own corners of camp. Mary Margaret smiled at Emma, rubbing her arm briefly before leaving the pirate and the savior alone by the fire.

Now that they were alone Emma wished that Hook—Killian, damn it—that _he_ would stop staring at her like that. It was awe and reverence, lust and open affection, hope and fear and everything that Emma felt but was too afraid to show. She flashed an uncomfortable smile and turned toward the fire, telling herself it was the heat of the flames that made her feel so hot.

Killian stood up and came over to sit next to her, his shoulder brushing against hers. He radiated heat that made Emma shiver.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"No."

"You're shivering."

"Yeah, well…I'm fine."

Moments passed in silence, but it wasn't awkward. It was the easy kind of quiet that felt relaxing, soothing. Killian finally leaned toward her and brushed her hair from her shoulder, his fingertips grazing her neck. Her breath caught.

"You remember what I told you, love? Back in the jungle?" He whispered, his lips touching her ear and _damn him _for making her feel like this right now, because she wasn't supposed to be thinking about his mouth and his hands and his heat because _Henry, Henry, just think about Henry_.

"I want you to remember that name, Emma. I plan on hearing you say it more than once."

_Fucking pirate_, she thought angrily, but she couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips. She was a trembling mess and she tried to forget his voice in her ear and his fingers on her skin.

David cleared his throat behind them. To his credit, Killian—Hook—_whatever_!—didn't back away from her. He merely turned to look at the prince, who held out Emma's belongings. "We're ready when you are, Emma," he said. They were all staring at her again, watching her with that knowing look in their eyes, like they could see the conflict in her head. Mary Margaret was still smiling, more with her eyes than anything else. Emma set her shoulders and stepped away from Killian.

_Killian. He's never going to let me live that down._

"Right," she said, looking at Regina and Neal. "Let's go get our son back."

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	3. are you dizzy yet

**CS prompt for Emma and Killian playfully wrestling over something. It got out of hand. There may or may not be a second part in progress... ;)**

**Hope you like it!**

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"Problem, love?"

Emma was rummaging through her purse, frowning as she dug through every pocket a second time. She gave the bag a shake, listening for the familiar jingle, and it _sounded_ like they were there but she couldn't _find_ the damn things. "My keys…" Growling in frustration, she gave up on her purse and began patting down her jacket again, going for the pockets at her hips before she remembered she was wearing a skirt. No pockets.

Killian was standing right behind her, watching over her shoulder as she began emptying the contents of her purse onto the roof of her car. "I put them in my pocket…and I had them in the diner," she muttered, shaking her head as she sifted through wrinkled receipts and laid out three different lip glosses. "Will you go back in and see if I left them on the table?"

But Killian gave her one better, bringing his hand up next to her with a soft jingle, her keys dangling from his outstretched forefinger. He chuckled against her ear and lifted his hand high over his head when Emma reached for them. "Seriously? You pickpocketed my keys?" She turned around, a little surprised to find him so close, and leaned back against the car, shivering against the bite of early winter in the air. Wearing a skirt was a terrible idea, as cold as it had been, but there was something about tonight that felt different, and she wanted to look nice. This wasn't their first date—she'd made it clear that she wanted to take things slow, and Killian agreed—but now there was a comfortable tension that had developed between them that…well, Emma wasn't quite ready to put words to it yet.

But none of that mattered, because the stunned expression on Killian's face when she answered the door was totally worth the price of being a little cold.

As for the rest of it—she could figure that out in the morning.

"You've had a lot to drink, love. I thought driving might not be a good idea."

"Ha, ha. You'd be surprised how well I handle my _hot chocolate_," she said dryly, reaching for her keys again and coming up empty as Killian lifted them higher, stretching just enough so her fingers could touch the keys but not grab them. "Killian…"

"Emma…" he mimicked, a broad smile on his face as he watched her jump awkwardly in her heeled boots. He was standing close enough that she could see the warm glow of streetlamps reflected in his eyes when he grinned down at her, and she gave him back a smile that was just wide enough to be playful.

Emma normally didn't _do_ playful, because it wasn't safe. It was too open, too whimsical, too easy to forget that she was supposed to be protecting herself. Part of her was terrified by the effect that simply being around Killian Jones had on her. She'd been disappointed too many times not to be a little wary. But another part of her, a faint candle of something like hope flickering in her chest, was excited, because whatever Killian Jones was doing it was _working_—that tiny flame was growing, burning higher and hotter in her chest. And instead of rolling her eyes and smirking when he told her that he wasn't going anywhere, she was starting to believe him.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said, his voice like dark velvet. He let his eyes touch every inch of her, lingering on her legs as his gaze swept over her, bold and hot and full of intent.

Emma focused on the buttons of his coat. "Killian Jones, give me my car keys."

Killian lowered his hand, only to twist it around behind his back as he gave her a look of mock offense. "Oh, no, my full name—does that mean the same thing in your realm that it does in mine?"

She knew exactly what she was doing when she wrapped her arms around his waist, trying in vain to wrestle the keys from his hand, his wool coat cool and scratchy against her cheek. When he chuckled, she could feel it vibrating from his chest into hers. He was enjoying himself way too much. Ignoring the fact that they were behaving like children, she straightened and gave his chest a playful slap. "Come on, Killian, it's freezing out here!"

"Are you cold, Swan?" Emma raised an eyebrow at the way his voice went suddenly low and quiet, and she backed away when he took a step closer to her, until her back was up against the car. They weren't touching, a respectable distance still separating them in case someone happened to walk past their deserted, dimly lit side street, but he was still near enough that she could feel heat radiating off of him, and something about the closeness made her want to lean in even closer, if for no other reason than to soak up some of his warmth.

"A little, yeah." She wasn't saying that so he'd come closer. She wasn't, but she knew that he would, and she held her breath until his body made contact with hers, and then let it out in a rush so she could inhale the scent of him, soap and clean sweat on his skin, with just a hint of apple and cinnamon from Granny's homemade pie.

"Well," he whispered softly, tilting his head closer until she could feel his lips moving against her ear as he came nearer, both of them instinctively curving into each other from thigh to shoulder, "We can't have that, can we?"

Emma wasn't sure if he'd done it on purpose or not—she assumed that he had, because _pirate_—but one of his knees had taken up residence between hers and his leg was moving dangerously higher between her thighs. She definitely did _not_ shift her feet farther apart to accommodate him, forcing her skirt to inch slightly higher, but maybe she was glad that she did it because Killian was grinning down at her like she was second dessert, bracing his right hand and left forearm on the hood of the car so he was everywhere around her, and all she could see was the scruff on his jaw and the blue of his eyes and those thick black eyebrows arching up in amusement. And then suddenly it was too warm, because his leg was _right there_ and she bit her bottom lip as he guided his hips into hers, just enough pressure to draw a reluctant sigh from her lips.

It took her a few tries to swallow the groan that had lodged itself in her throat, and she was all too aware of his thigh still pressed firmly between hers, but finally she managed to say his name in a voice that was audible, though not too far from a squeak. She placed her hands on his chest with every intent of pushing him away, but found herself instead gripping the lapels of his coat, the heavy black wool just the right amount of rough against her fingertips, and she closed her eyes and gently pulled him close, holding in a sigh until she felt his lips on hers.

They'd kissed before, obviously-Neverland was anything but a one-time thing, despite what Emma said-and they were everything from easy and attentive to quick and passionate, but never more than kisses.

They were trying to take it slow.

She could feel him smiling as he placed a chaste, tender kiss on her lips, so soft and brief that it could have been an accident. When he didn't continue, Emma's eyes fluttered open. He was watching her. His face was fuzzy, blurred, her eyes unable to focus because he was so close, but she could see striking blue pupils darting from her mouth to her eyes, from her nose to the column of her throat, memorizing every inch of exposed skin. He dragged his gaze back up to her lips, and this time when he kissed her it was slow, his lips sliding over hers like he was painting them, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth so he could trace it with his tongue, guiding her to tilt her head so he could deepen the kiss, groaning when her tongue darted out to play against his.

Emma barely realized she was doing it when her hands moved into his hair, gripping the back of his neck with one hand and taking a fistful of thick black hair with the other. His right hand moved down to her hip, tracing circles through the fabric of her skirt, and then he hesitated. Emma chuckled into his mouth and rolled her hips in encouragement, and then Killian was hitching her skirt up slowly, gathering it in his hand inch by delicious inch until rough, callused fingers were grazing over her thigh and she inwardly cursed the fact that she'd chosen to wear leggings. Emma shivered into him, stretching and curling her body into his so she could feel more of him against her as she brought her leg up around his hip, dizzy and breathless from the combination of his tongue sliding over hers and the feeling of his hand gently moving over her leg, barely touching her but somehow managing enough friction to set fire to her bones.

He tasted like apples and rum and something more that was just _him_, and every time she thought he was pulling away she moaned in protest and went in again, her nose smashing into his cheeks, her teeth knocking against his when she moved just a little too hard, technique giving way to passion until it was sloppy and desperate, just lips and tongues and shared breath. Her skirt was rucked up around her hips now, and she could feel him wonderfully hard through his jeans, his hips stuttering against hers as she tried to maintain some semblance of control.

She really was trying.

She was, but it felt fantastically juvenile making out like a couple of horny teenagers, all hands and hormones. Emma lost herself to sensation, grinding her hips down every time he thrust up, mouths moving in synch with their bodies. It _had_ been a long time, and the thought of skin against skin was there at the edge of her vision like a promise, warm and inviting, quickening her senses until she could almost feel the hair on his chest scratching and sliding against her breasts when she arched into him, her fingers tracing the muscles of his sweat-slicked shoulders, her heels digging into his ass to bring him deeper inside of her…

It was too much, the way his lips already seemed to know the secrets of hers, the way his body already knew how to give her what she wanted.

Killian gave a rather hard, frantic thrust of his hips into hers, and he broke the kiss with a low growl, curling his shoulders forward and pressing his forehead into hers. They were both panting, limbs trembling and wild with need. He stayed where he was, only lifting his head so he could look into her eyes. For several long moments neither of them said anything, until Killian realized that Emma's skirt was still bunched up around her waist. He let out a quiet, pained laugh, releasing her and backing away far enough that she could straighten her skirt, but staying close enough that passersby wouldn't get a show.

Emma knew she was blushing, but she didn't care because he was smiling at her like that and her heart was beating like she'd run a marathon and her body was screaming at her that it wasn't quite finished yet, it wanted _more_. And then she giggled, and Killian's eyebrows shot up into his hair at the sound. His smile went impossibly wider and he laughed with her, stroking her cheek with the back of his knuckles, softly like he thought she might break. His hair was a mess from her fingers raking through it. She could still taste him in her mouth.

"You should go," he said, his voice raw and rough, grabbing her keys from the roof of the car and handing them to her. Her fingers were shaking, but that wasn't why she fumbled with the keys, or why she didn't turn around to unlock her car door. She only had a moment to make her choice.

Emma's eyes were glued to his when she said, "You know, I _am_ feeling a little tipsy, maybe I will walk home."

"Do you want me to walk with you?" Killian offered, but Emma shook her head. She stood up on her toes to kiss his neck, just below his jaw, her hands at his waist.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Killian."

And then she walked away, wondering how long it would take him to realize she'd slipped her keys into his pocket, wondering if he'd follow her tonight or wait until morning to return them to her.

Taking it slow.

_Right_.

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	4. Not a One-Time Thing

**A smutty follow-up from the last chapter...**

**You guys are awesome, thank you SO much for the follows and faves and reviews, they seriously make my day every time! :)**

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Emma half expected him not to show.

Her walk home hadn't done what it was supposed to do—she thought a cold walk would take the flush from her cheeks and rid her stomach of butterflies, but by the time she got back to her apartment all she could do was tear her coat and boots off at the door and smile, so wide that it hurt her cheeks, her heart pounding so hard that she thought maybe he could still hear it.

Because _damn it_ Killian wasn't kidding when he said 'fun'.

But she had to remind herself that he might not show up, that he might not find her keys until the morning, or he would find them immediately but, being the gentleman he was, he would wait until tomorrow to give them back to her. He might not realize what she was saying with that stupid little gesture, figure it was some sort of mistake on her part and think nothing more of it.

Or—and this was the lost little girl talking, the one who'd been abandoned by her parents, the one who'd given birth shackled to a hospital bed, the one who'd grown up thinking she would never be enough for anyone, the one who was currently chewing on her bottom lip and drumming her fingers anxiously on the kitchen counter—Killian might find her keys and not show up because he knew exactly what it meant when she slipped them into his coat pocket.

Emma stood in silent contemplation until she found her gaze wandering to the half-empty bottle of whiskey above her fridge, considering her next move. He might not show up at all.

_But he might_.

So instead of stripping down and getting drunk in her underwear, she settled for sitting on the sofa to peel off her leggings, not caring that they rolled up into a ball as she pulled them off and kicked them to who knows where, frowning a little at the thin red line that the seam had left on the inside of both legs. She went back into the kitchen—she was _not_ restless, _not_ anxious, _not_ pacing—thinking she might do the dishes, but there were none. There never were very many on the weekends that Henry was with Neal or Regina.

Emma glanced over her shoulder at the clock—she'd been home fifteen minutes. Long enough, in her opinion, that he should have been there already. Her face felt hot at the thought of rejection, her body still humming a slow tune of muted arousal that she was probably going to have to take care of herself if she wanted any sleep. Tugging her arms free from her sweater, she was about to pull it over her head and go upstairs when someone knocked on the door.

Two slow, hesitant knocks, followed by three sharp raps in quick succession, and she knew it had to be him because who else would it be at this hour? Emma's heart gave a lurch, and she shoved her arms back into her sweater in a hurry, checking her hair and makeup in the mirror on her way to the door. She paused with her hand on the lock to remind herself that it didn't mean anything, him being here. She refused to get her hopes up—he might just be returning her keys. They were taking it _slow_.

Emma took a deep breath and opened the door.

The first thing she noticed was that his hair was still a wreck from her hands raking through it, clumps of black sticking out in all directions like he'd just woken up. _Or like he's been thoroughly fucked_, she thought, and then quickly shook away the mental images that followed.

The second thing she noticed was his hand when he held it out to her without a word, her keys resting in his palm. He must have been gripping them tight because there were bright red spots where the notches on the keys had dug deep rivets into his skin, and the metal was still warm in her hand.

"Hi," she said, and she couldn't believe her own hushed whisper, almost breathy. Emma Swan didn't _do_ breathy, and yet…

"Emma." Killian's voice, on the other hand, was anything but breathy, deep and solid, confident but for the inflection that carried with it the tiniest hint of a question, _waiting_.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the empty space between them so tense she could have reached out and plucked music from the air. Emma's heart was still beating hard enough that surely he could see it, the way it shook her, surely he could see the heavy pulse in her neck. But his eyes were focused solely on her face in a meeting of sea and sky, and his gaze was so hesitant that Emma had to remind herself once more that he might not be here to stay…

She cleared her throat. "Do you want to come in for a drink, or—"

And then he was kissing her, his right hand tangled in her hair so tight that it pulled almost painfully when he crashed into her, tilting her head to the side so he could slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her. Emma registered the sound of the door slamming shut and her keys falling to the floor, but only distantly as she wrapped her arms around his neck and Killian spun her around and pressed her back against the door.

The distinct taste of rum overwhelmed the flavors of apple and cinnamon from earlier. He'd gone back to his ship, then, probably torturing himself with the same doubts she was having—that this was anything but slow, anything but safe, that they should probably wait.

And he was _here_.

The tension between them was alive in the air like a heartbeat, driving them into each other, lips pulling and tugging, not trying to force each other into submission but rather drawing one another out of hiding.

"I guess that's a no to the drink, then," Emma said, pulling back just enough to murmur against his lips. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

His left arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, forcing her body to curve into his, and his right hand rested on her hip, gripping her tight like she was the only thing keeping him on his feet. His breath was hot on her face when he spoke, his voice low and _hungry_ as he rubbed his forehead across hers. "I wasn't sure," he started, pausing briefly to take a breath. "I didn't know if you meant…"

Emma slid her hands from his shoulders and began working on the buttons of his coat. She knew his eyes were on hers, waiting for the expression on her face to tell him the things she wasn't saying, but she fixed her eyes on the business of undressing him, fingers trembling as they moved down his torso. "I thought I made it obvious," she said, furrowing her brow when one of the cold plastic buttons refused to cooperate. "I gave you the keys to my house, didn't I?"

Killian smiled. "It's been a while, love, and you're…" he said, his voice trailing off.

Emma looked at him then, her mouth twisting into a grin. "I'm what?"

"You're…you."

Killian's hand came up to do what she could not, unbuttoning his coat the rest of the way with a steady hand, never letting his eyes stray from hers. When he was finished Emma slid her hands underneath the coat to push it off of his shoulders, and he relaxed into her for a moment, taking advantage of their closeness to nuzzle against her neck. She gently pushed him away and hung his coat by the door, _not_ smiling when she saw it hanging next to hers because that would be a silly thing to smile about.

When she turned back around, he was on her again, his hand brushing over her neck and jaw like she was a treasure, something rare and covetous that he couldn't help but touch. His lips grazed her neck, tongue flicking over her pulse. Emma unbuttoned his shirt while he kissed her, and he backed off long enough to shrug his arms free. She opened her mouth to tease him about being in a hurry, but Killian silenced her with ready kisses, exploring with a heady kind of haste that made Emma moan into his mouth and run her hands through his hair.

Emma felt a rush of heat flood her veins when his hand fumbled its way up the back her sweater, rough fingers moving blindly over her smooth curves. His hands weren't shaking the way hers were, and Emma focused on the steady pressure of his fingers on her skin, wishing she could summon half of his confidence as she rolled against him. He paused, his mouth going still on hers as he traced over her bra, hooking his thumb underneath it and gently pulling it away from her skin, wordlessly asking permission.

Emma obliged, pulling her sweater over her head, and the last bit of doubt that had lingered in Killian's gaze suddenly vanished, only to be eagerly replaced with the heat of lust as his eyes drank her in, deep blue gaze caressing her neck and shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, and _damn_ if the sincerity in his eyes didn't make her knees feel weak. Emma gestured to the plain white t-shirt he still wore and said, "Off," but instead of doing it himself he gave her a smug smile and lazily held up his arms, quirking a challenging brow at her.

"Killian," she said, trying to sound irritated, but all he did was smirk as she lifted his shirt over his head. When his arms were free, Killian let his good hand skim down her hip until he was tickling her leg under the hem of her skirt while Emma grasped his shoulders, tracing the shape of her desire into his skin. She could feel raised scars running across his back, sometimes side by side, sometimes clashing against each other. She knew there was pain there, pain that ran as deep as her own, and she wanted to smooth her hands over his scars, erase them, take away some of the hurt, but there would be time for that later.

_Later?_

_What happened to just a one-time thing?_

He was there to distract her from her thoughts as he grinned against her neck and unzipped her skirt, giving it a helpful shove on its way to the floor. When he stroked her blessedly bare thigh and hitched it up over his hip, his callused fingers finally scratching over her skin, Emma pulled his lips to hers and rolled her body forward, exhaling against his ear when she felt him unbelievably hard through his jeans, thinking maybe she would let him take her right here just so they could get things going.

Emma sighed as he gave a small thrust of his hips and slid his lips to her jaw, back down the length of her neck to bite his way across her collarbone. She was drowning in the feel of his teeth nibbling her skin, the texture of his jeans rubbing against her thighs, the sound of his breath ragged and quick in her ears, so she didn't notice that he was moving until it was too late.

She let out an unladylike snort when he bent down and hoisted her up over his shoulder, giving her bottom a soft slap as he carried her toward the stairs.

"Killian! What are you—"

"Despite that ungodly sound you just made, love, you are still a _lady_, and I'm not going to take you up against a bloody _door_." He took the stairs two at a time, kicking her bedroom door closed with his heel and dropping her unceremoniously onto her bed. She landed with a huff, and immediately propped herself up onto her elbows to reprimand him, but the look on his face stopped her.

_Fuck_.

He was smiling this stupid, lazy smile that lit up his eyes and made him look positively sinful. It was a look that promised things like slow dancing and tender moonlit kisses, but also vowed hours of mind-numbing sex, and for a moment all Emma could do was stare up at him with her mouth slightly open, a bemused expression on her face. She swallowed a few times as he strolled casually toward the bed, grabbing her ankle when she started crawling back toward the pillows.

"Killian." She said it like a warning, hard and a little desperate as he moved up over her, and she instinctively parted her legs as he lowered his hips onto hers, not gentle this time but firm, full of intent.

"Emma," he retorted, warm fingers sliding the straps of her bra over her shoulders before reaching underneath her back to fiddle with the clasp. His brow furrowed after a moment, and then he swore, leaning over and partially rolling her so he could look at the "bloody device" with his own eyes. Finally he figured it out, letting out a victorious laugh when the thing came unhooked and he threw it over the side of the bed with a flourish. Emma couldn't help but laugh, though that laugh soon turned heated, her voice choked and hoarse when he ducked his head down to torture one breast with his mouth, all tongue and teeth and hot breath, his hand moving to the other side, alternating between teasing and soothing until Emma was clutching at the bedding, crumpling fistfuls of cotton sheets in her hands as she arched up into him, her hips moving in restless circles.

Hormones and instinct took over, driving her into him as he continued mapping her body with his mouth, his teeth teasing at band of her underwear, moving further still until his nose nudged at her through the thin layer of cotton. Emma's hips moved on their own, seeking out what her body so desperately craved, and she could feel him breathing on her, the scratch of his stubbled jaw burning sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

"Killian," she said, and it came out like a prayer, her voice quiet but somewhat strangled as she pressed her shoulders deeper into the bed.

He hooked his fingers through her underwear and practically tore them off of her, sparing a glance toward the wetness between her thighs as he threw them over his shoulder. He hummed softly to himself as he coaxed her legs farther apart, settling onto his stomach on the bed. It was then that Emma's brain finally caught up with her body, and she realized what he was about to do. Suddenly she felt incredibly naked and vulnerable and she grabbed his hair in her hand and yanked him away, probably a little harder than necessary but she was dizzy with desire at this point, and she shook her head when his own bright blue eyes met hers with an unspoken question.

"You don't have to," she said, aware that it came out in a whisper but unable to manage more than that as she traced his jaw with hesitant fingers.

The grin that he gave her should have been answer enough, but he crawled up her body and Emma let her hands trail down to his chest as he hovered over her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him.

"This may surprise you, but I do know the difference between having to do something," he said, sucking on her bottom lip and then pulling away so it slid out of his mouth with a wet _pop_, "and wanting to do something. And I've _wanted_ this for a long time, Emma." His smile never wavered as he gave her a mischievous wink and then reached down and took her hand in his, guiding it into his hair. "Just hold on tight, darling."

It wasn't like Emma had never had someone do this before.

This was just the first time that it had been done so fucking _well_.

He rubbed a whiskery cheek against her thigh as he gave it a quick kiss, guiding her to bend one knee out to the side, the other leg bent with her foot flat on the bed and her thigh pressed close to his ear. He gave her leg a soft nip and slid his arms under her hips to lift her closer, all while Emma watched him with a hooded gaze, her hand still resting in his hair. For a few moments he just breathed, and the sensation of it, combined with the way his lips ghosted over that tiny hub of nerves, made her grip his hair again, her fingernails scraping his scalp as he swiped his tongue once over her wet heat, drawing circles around her clit, purposefully avoiding direct contact.

Emma was not a noisy lover. She never had been. But the way his tongue flicked out to lick a long, hard stripe through her slick folds was enough to make her moan—_loud_—and she'd never done that before. She _almost_ felt self-conscious, but when she followed it with another groan as his tongue circled over her again, she heard Killian mirror the sound, felt him smirk as the sound vibrated against her skin, and she saw him curl his hips lightly into the mattress.

_Interesting_.

"Killian," she said, his name pouring from her lips like a plea. When he turned his head and bit at her inner thigh once more, she raked her fingers through his hair and bucked her hips into his mouth. She was rewarded with another loud groan as Killian quickened his pace, tightened the circles his tongue was making around the one spot where she needed him.

Desperate for it, she stopped trying to be quiet, low moans and contented sighs rising up in her throat every time his tongue dove inside of her, fucking her with his mouth. Emma moved her fingers through his hair in time with the stroking of his tongue, watching him drive his hips into the bed, his eyes fluttering closed when he shifted to let his teeth graze over her. Her back came off the bed, shoulders digging down as she tilted her hips, the slight change hurling her toward her climax.

He must have felt how close she was because he muttered a curse and something that sounded like "Come for me, Emma," before he placed his lips over that beautiful, tight little bundle of nerves and sucked. She came apart with a soft shout, every muscle in her body clenching tight in that one perfect moment as he smoothed his tongue over her clit to draw out her orgasm, wave after wave crashing over her in time with the frantic motion of her hips.

She felt him untangle her fingers from his hair and then his weight left the bed, and she brought her hand up to absentmindedly stroke her breast as she opened her eyes, watching him quickly finish undressing. Moonlight painted the scars on his back in pale blue, the marks standing out like brands, signs of pain and hardship that made him look like a warrior. He caught her looking and smiled.

"See something you like, darling?"

_Cocky bastard._

_Oh, and speaking of…_

Emma's eyes raked over him with a smile and she shrugged. "Maybe."

He groaned, and was back on the bed in an instant, settling once more between her thighs like he belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world for their bodies to be intertwined like that. She wanted to flip him onto his back and ride him, watch him crash beneath her, but then he was sliding his cock over her, sparking every nerve in her body with each slow drag, and her mind emptied of every thought but _yes yes please yes_.

"Emma," he said, sounding like a plea. She reached between them and took him in her hand, guiding him to where she was wet and absolutely aching for him, marveling at the contrast of hard and soft, and how tight and hot it felt as her body stretched around him.

"Shit…" She watched the muscles in his jaw tensing, desire evident in the way his fingers crawled up to her hip as he slowly sank into her, and she brought her legs up to wrap around his waist, and finally he slid himself fully inside of her with a satisfied grunt.

"You alright, there, Swan?" he said, and Emma smiled at the way his words came out harsh and forced. He had a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his hair gloriously wrecked, and when he bent his head down to kiss her she could taste herself on his tongue.

She broke the kiss when she nodded and said, "Yeah…just a little tight."

"Yes, I know."

Emma let out a yelp when he drew back and quickly thrust back in, and she tried to lift her hips to meet his. Tried, but their bodies were still newly acquainted, moving together but not _together_, and Emma was the first one to break the silence, laughing at the inherent awkwardness.

Killian gave her a mock frown as he lowered himself onto his elbows. "Stop that, it's been a while," he said, the words thick and laced with heat that sent shivers down her spine. "I've got it."

"Like riding a bike," Emma said lightly, trying to ease her own nerves. His face was dangerously near her own, sharing the same air as he kissed her nose. He slid his arms up behind her back, curling his fingers over her left shoulder so he could bring her impossibly close, pulling her body down into his when he thrust his hips forward.

"I don't know what a _bike_ is, love." He didn't stop, his voice dropping into its lower register when he buried himself inside her yet again, closing his eyes briefly as she slid beneath him like silk.

"It…_ah_…doesn't matter…"

Emma moved her legs a little bit higher so the tops of her thighs were brushing against the back of his arms, and she tilted her hips in time with his rocking movements, and soon enough they found a rhythm, close enough to give her clit the right amount of friction, and just enough distance that she could watch his expression shifting between pleasure and pain, awe and relief.

He sank deeper and deeper every time, crawling into her until they were sharing the same space, and when his chest slid over her nipples she sighed and smiled and pressed harder against him because _this_ was better than anything she could have imagined. What they lacked in initial timing they more than made up for in overall technique as his cock slid over that spot deep inside of her, edging them both closer and closer. They set a fast pace, probably faster than it should have been, because Emma wanted to take her time and love him slowly, carefully so he could feel how much she loved—

_Loved him_.

_Shit._

"Emma," he said, and his voice was a warning, strained and thin like cracking ice. Her nails left little marks in his shoulders as Killian curved into her, shifting his angle just enough that this new position had his cock moving deep and hard and _right there_ every time, and just like she'd imagined herself doing she dug her heels into his ass, pleasure mounting so quickly that she couldn't react anymore, all she could do was cling to his shoulders and moan and swipe her lips over his, not kissing him but needing the additional contact.

And then it was there like the ground rushing up to meet her, like the sky crashing around her, and she came hard, dragging out every syllable of his name to the beat of his body moving into hers. Through it all she heard him whispering her name over and over, "Emma, Emma, _Emma_…"

Killian kept going while she rode out her orgasm, thrusting harder and faster as he buried his face against her neck and bit down on the skin where her neck and shoulder met. He came with a heavy groan, shuddered then went still above her, sucking on her neck gently as his hips slowly stuttered to a stop.

Emma opened her eyes when his full weight fell on her, and for a few seconds she wrapped her limbs around him, etching his sweat-slicked back with her fingernails. She smiled to herself when he kissed her collarbone, her neck, her ear, whatever skin he could reach. Her bones were tired, her muscles on fire, and when Killian slipped out of her and rolled over, all she could do was lay there while she caught her breath, listening to the sounds of their breathing.

Eventually he sat up and brought the blankets up over them, lying back down and settling into the pillows with a sigh. Emma turned her head to look at him. He was smiling at her, and brought his hand over to trace the bridge of her nose, touching his fingers to her lips.

"_Emma_," he whispered, and it sounded like a prayer. "I want to stay."

Emma craned her neck to look at him. "Then stay."

He took her hand in his and held it tight. The room was dark but his eyes were somehow still impossibly blue, shining like bottled lightning. "Love—"

She sat up, propping herself on one elbow so she could look down at him. "I know what you mean, Killian. I want you to stay. _Here_," she said, patting the bed, "with me. Not just for now, not just for tonight." He raised his eyebrows slightly.

_In for a penny,_ she thought, and then she leaned closer and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and said, "I might love you."

The smile on his face was like nothing she'd ever seen before. It wasn't anything different, necessarily—she'd seen him smile before—but suddenly he looked ten years younger, every line in his face softened, every worry in his brow vanished as he rolled on top of her and began kissing her _everywhere_. Emma giggled and snorted as he dotted chaste little pecks over her face and neck, wet open-mouthed kisses over her breasts and shoulders, and then he kissed her mouth while he was still smiling—they both were—and he poured everything she felt back into her ten-fold until she felt the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes. Killian drew back and smiled down at her.

"I love you, Emma Swan, you bloody brilliant woman. Even when you snort in bed."

"Oh, that's so generous of you," she laughed, swatting at his chest.

"I mean it, Emma. I love you. More than you know."

"I think I've got a pretty good idea," she said, spreading her legs a little wider.

"Mmm…I think I'm starting to get a good idea too," he replied. He settled between her thighs again, fitting their bodies together like two pieces of a puzzle.

"Oh yeah?" Emma bucked her hips and grinned up at him. "Show me."

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**IDK, I was really nervous about posting this...review? Please? ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**tumblr prompt: Hook and the luxury of central heating and/or hot showers**

**I was torn between smut and no smut with this one - I went with the latter.**

**It's short and sweet. :)**

**And a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited!**

* * *

Killian let out another loud sigh and leaned forward, bracing himself with his good hand on the shower wall.

There were very few things that the pirate captain found preferable about this realm – he missed the openness of home, the way the magic of the seas sang to him. He didn't recognize the language of the oceans in this world, and it made him homesick.

But moments like this, with heat sinking into his bones and warming him from the outside in, made him think that maybe he could get used to this realm.

He reached down to adjust the hot water, rounding his shoulders forward with a sigh as the new surge of heat washed over his head, his shoulders, trickling down his back. His fingers curled into a fist and he pressed his knuckles to the white tiled wall as he breathed deep, the thick, humid air not quite filling his lungs, leaving his head feeling slightly dizzy and very warm.

Emma had kindly offered the use of her shower to him when she realized he was bathing out of a bucket every morning on the _Jolly Roger_. Gentleman that he was, he insisted that it wasn't necessary, but between the ability to summon hot water on command (which Swan insisted was _not_ magic, but Killian still had his doubts) and the knowledge that Emma was on the other side of that door with a hot meal and, as of late, a ready smile, Killian was growing more and more fond of Storybrooke every day.

As if she'd heard him thinking about her, the bathroom door swung open and Emma strode through, her eyes wide and worried. Killian turned to look at her through the glass shower door, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he saw her green eyes wide and _staring_ at him, a lovely blush rising in her cheeks as she scanned his body. The way her eyes lingered overlong in certain places made Killian positively _hungry_ for her.

"Need something, love?" he asked, lifting his head and quirking an eyebrow at her.

"I…you…" She blinked, then shook her head and quickly collected herself, but the blush remained. "I was calling your name through the door, didn't you hear me? I thought maybe…something was wrong." She took another imperceptibly small step closer to the shower, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. "Hook, you've been in here almost thirty minutes, what the hell are you doing?"

Killian's smile widened, and he turned to face her, completely unashamed of his body's reaction to her as he slid the shower door open. "I've been waiting for you, love," he said with a wink.

It wasn't her shocked expression that made him laugh, or the way she flushed a brilliant shade of crimson at his invitation. It wasn't even the way her eyes briefly flicked downward before rising again to meet his, the usual vibrant green slowly darkening with desire.

No, what made him laugh was the way she instinctively stepped forward, as though her body wanted to accept his offer before her brain had the sense to refuse him.

Killian rolled his eyes and reached out to take her hand in his. "Bloody hell, Emma, just get in here," he said, and by the time she was fully in his arms her grin was even bigger than his.

_Oh yes_, he thought to himself. _ I could definitely get used to this._


	6. Chapter 6

**Prompt: "I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then." —alice in wonderland**

* * *

Emma tries not to sleep.

It's not easy, because Hook spent the last several hours exhausting her in the best ways possible, and now her eyes are heavy, her limbs are weary, and her bones protest every move she makes as she settles into a less comfortable position in an attempt to keep herself awake. It's all she can do to open her eyes again every time she blinks.

Part of her wants to give in, so she can dream the images of his body driving into hers as he called out her name – Emma, Emma, _Emma_, like a song, like a prayer – and the way the night cast a bluish glow over their skin as they moved effortlessly together, like they'd both been built for the sole purpose of loving each other. She felt it humming in her skin even now, her body calling to his as she let her fingertips trace invisible patterns over the scars on his back, the raised and sometimes painfully jagged flesh painted bright by the light of the moon.

_Just for tonight_, she'd told him, but she knows better than that now because the look in her eyes mirrored the look in his when she came apart in his arms, his work-roughened fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise, but she didn't care because his eyes were bright and deep and honest as he watched her, encouraged her, praised her, _loved her_.

Emma stifles a yawn and bites at the inside of her cheek to the point of drawing blood. She _needs_ to stay awake because she doesn't want him to go and she's terrified that he might, that he'll creep away while she's sleeping so he doesn't have to hear her asking him to leave. When Killian lets out a deep breath and stretches, Emma freezes, praying to whatever gods might be listening that the pirate won't wake, _not yet not yet_, she's not ready, hasn't found the right words to make him stay, she just needs a few more minutes, _please not yet_.

He rolls onto his back, and by some mercy he sleeps on.

Emma lets out the breath she's been holding and waits until the rise and fall of his chest evens out before she places her hand there, flat against his skin so she can feel the steady beat of his heart against her palm. Her brow furrows as the silent battle wages in her head, resentment and fear resisting the feeling of contentment that's slowly threatening to overwhelm her.

_Just tonight_, she'd said, as their clothes were flying off and their kisses were becoming less and less controlled, and she wasn't stupid, she saw the shadow that crossed his features, saw the way he steeled himself against her words at the same time she hardened her heart against his, but at the time she wanted him, _needed him_ too badly to care. And then she'd told him he could stay the night, but _just for tonight_, and again she saw the way it cut him, but he nodded and rolled away from her and slept.

But now _she_ can't sleep because she needs to tell him that she was scared but she's not anymore, that she's never been loved the way that he loves her, and it's terrifying and new and she needs him to stay because whatever this is it's worth being scared for.

She needs to tell him that she's not the same person she was before, that she doesn't feel the same way she did a few hours ago, that she's changed her mind about _just tonight_ and maybe she wants more than that, somehow in the last few hours she's decided that maybe she wants _every_ _night_.

So she waits.


	7. Breathe In, Breathe Out

**A smutty oneshot I posted on tumblr.**

**No prompt, I just felt like writing pointless smut. **

**;)**

* * *

"Breathe, Swan."

Killian's voice is rough and ragged and sounds like it's coming from far away, but that's probably because he's got his face buried between her legs and he's working her over like it's a competition and he's determined to _win._

"I am breathing," she says, but it's not quite the truth, because she _was_ holding her breath while he nibbled on her inner thigh, waiting for him to finally get to the good part, and when he did her breath came out in the form of his name and a surprisingly creative curse that made him chuckle, his stubbled chin scraping against her clit as he looked up at her and grinned.

_Fucking pirate_.

Her hand shoots down to grip his hair as he parts her slick, sensitive folds with his tongue, his teeth brushing over her just enough to send sparks through her body, igniting her blood.

"Why do you still call me Swan?" she mutters, rolling her head to the side. She doesn't know where the question is coming from, because this is hardly the time, but sex with Killian Jones _does_ things to her - and one of those things just happens to be that it makes her talk. Sometimes _during_ sex. Especially _good_ sex, and right now it's fucking _phenomenal._ One of her hands is almost angrily gripping his hair, and the other is tangled in the sheets at her side, twisting and sliding in time with the motion of his tongue as it dips inside of her.

Killian's tongue retreats, and he talks with his lips pressed right against her clit, so that every word he says brushes over the hub of nerves and makes her writhe beneath him. "Do you really want to talk about this _now,_ love?" he asks, diverting his attention back to her inner thighs, paying homage to the smooth skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

"I just…_fuck_…I mean, you've…called me Emma before…but…_oh, fuck me, Killian_…you still call me Swan all the time, and I _just…wait,_ w-what are you doing?"

He's moving up her body now, his tongue flicking over one nipple as his fingers tweak the other and she sighs, her fingers rubbing the sweaty skin at the back of his neck, and then he's hovering over her with that stupid grin of his, the one he gets when he knows he's doing it right and _fuck him it's like he's been taking notes or something_…

"I'm having a conversation, apparently," he says, adjusting himself so he's bracing his weight on his left forearm. He kisses her mouth, and his lips are slick and warm as they pull on hers, his teeth biting at her bottom lip, and then his right hand is skimming over her torso, rough fingers tracing lazy stripes down her abdomen until he's got two fingers inside of her, his thumb pressing gently on her clit. Emma groans and lifts her hips toward him, urging him to move harder, faster, but he keeps a slow pace at first, the circling motion of his thumb and the slide of his fingers teasing as they stoke the fire in her veins.

"I call you Swan because that's who you are." He's kissing her neck and shoulder as he talks to her, and Emma wraps one arm around his neck and the other one reaches up around his back to cling to his shoulder. She plants her feet on the mattress and lifts her hips to meet every thrust of his fingers, and Killian chuckles against her skin.

"You're elegant, graceful, a damned _wench_ when you want to be," he says, and he's starting to pick up the pace, now, so Emma can't help but smile victoriously as she's moaning into his ear. "You're beautiful, bloody brilliant…"

His teeth sink into the skin where her neck and shoulder meet, and he sucks hard for a moment so he'll leave a mark. She doesn't bother chastising him, just digs her fingernails into the back of his shoulder in retaliation.

"And no one else calls you Swan." He pulls his head away, and now he's watching her closely as he drags her closer to her climax, his eyes greedy and desperate as they search every inch of her face. "Miss Swan, sometimes, but never just Swan. The name Emma belongs to everyone - but Swan is_ mine."_

Emma can hear the smile in his voice when she comes around his fingers a moment later, arching her back off of the bed and pressing her shoulders hard into the mattress as she whispers his name over and over, his thumb slowing but not stopping as she gently rides through her release.

When she opens her eyes he's still smiling, and she leans up to kiss him, hard enough that eventually he's lowering himself down so she can feel his arousal hot and hard through his trousers. She gives his shoulders a shove and bucks her hips and rolls them over so she's straddling him, her hair falling around her shoulders wild and tangled and glorious.

"Yours," she promises, and then she's kissing her way down his chest, eager to return the favor.

* * *

**I want you guys to know that even though I'm terrible at responding to reviews, I really do appreciate hearing from you all! Every follow and favorite and review makes me super happy and motivates me to keep writing, so thank you! :)**


	8. If I Could Be Where You Are

**This was a Christmas gift for Pamela over on tumblr.**

**It's a little longer than most of my oneshots. Sorry? ;)**

**(This went in a direction I was not expecting, but after that midseason finale I was just...yeah. Wow. So many feelings!)**

* * *

Emma thinks she's seeing ghosts.

Sometimes they're just flashes, glimpses of a figure, a man that Emma doesn't quite recognize but she knows that she _could_ if only she got a better look. But by the time she's spun around, whoever it was is gone. She blinks, and the memories that were clawing desperately to get to the front of her mind are banished in a flash of eyelids. Within minutes she's forgotten all about it.

Other times he's in her dreams, flickering shades of black and leather, a storm of impossibly blue eyes. He's shouting her name in anger as she walks away from him; he's giving her a sad smile as they part, his gaze drifting over every inch of her face, so full of love and hope that it's almost too much to bear; he's breathing hard and brushing his nose against hers, cheeks hot and flushed, his hand at the small of her back, gripping a fistful of her shirt.

But he doesn't have a face. He's barely a figure, barely holding form – most of the time he's just a feeling, a sense of loss. He's the hollow ache in her chest when she thinks of Henry, when she thinks back on her time in prison, when she wonders what possible reason her parents could have had for giving her up, for abandoning her. He's in everything, because he's a part of her, something she can't explain, something she's never had but always known she was missing.

"_Mom_?"

Henry's voice draws her out of her head, back to the scrambled eggs on the stove, the bread in the toaster. "Almost ready, kiddo," she replies, and within moments the flashes of memory are gone, quicker than they'd appeared.

Back to normal.

* * *

In the beginning, Killian drank. The _Jolly Roger_ followed them to the Enchanted Forest, along with the captain's extensive stores of rum, and the pirate tried to fill up the cracks in his heart with the stuff until life was blurred and distant and his head was pleasantly numb.

He saw her everywhere he went. His ship was usually a place of solace for him, but she was always there, standing at the helm in the storms of Neverland, sharing a drink in the crew quarters, leaning over the gunwale watching the steady rise and fall of the waves. She was in his cabin, sitting at the table while he tried to eat, watching him pour over old maps as he made plans that he never intended to carry out.

After a while he began to talk to her. He talked to himself, mostly, but he included her in his musings every time he stumbled over an idea he thought she might like. He imagined what she might say, how she might look at him, the twist of her lips as they curved into a smile, the slight brightening of her eyes if he amused her. He would drink, and when he was drunk enough to see her he would ramble on about how he missed her, how he longed for her, how he regretted that they didn't have more time together. He spoke to her words of love, words of anger – sometimes he spoke words of resentment that he never would have uttered aloud if she'd truly been there. He talked about his life before he became a pirate, a time before he was angry and bitter and carried the weight of three lifetimes on his shoulders. He'd lived more moments than any man should have lived, and he told her he felt tired, stretched out, worn down. He told her about Milah, about Liam, about everything he'd never had a chance to tell her but had always wanted to.

One day she started talking back.

Charming found him a few days later, brooding and distracted on the floor of his cabin, surrounded by empty bottles and broken, splintered furniture – the hook had done most of the destroying, but the man didn't remember doing it. All he knew was that his left arm was exhausted and his throat was dry.

Hard to believe it had only been eleven days since he'd lost her.

It felt like a lifetime.

"Get up, Hook," Charming said, yanking the grumbling man to his feet. "You're better than this."

Killian begged to differ, but he let himself be forcibly relocated to the royal palace. Between the prince and Snow White, the pirate was slowly dragged out of his melancholy. A few weeks later he was back to fighting form.

He still saw her everywhere he went, her soft smile tattooed onto his mind, following him like a shadow. But this time, instead of dragging him back into the darkness, she is a ray of sunlight, a shining promise of something better, something more.

Something _good_.

They were close to finding a way back to her, and when they did, Killian Jones would be ready.

* * *

Emma can't tell if this is a dream or not, because everything around her is so tangible and real. She can hear the birds singing, feel the soft sand beneath her bare feet and the warm, salty breeze ruffling her hair. She doesn't remember where she's supposed to be going, but then she sees him a short distance ahead of her, his eyes fixed on the horizon as he stares out at the ocean.

It makes sense that she would find him here, because he's always loved the water. So has she, ever since that trip she took with her foster parents when she was five. She played in the water and laughed, and they had a picnic in the sand and watched the sun set over the water. It was a good day, one of very few that she actually remembered from her childhood.

When he turns to look at her he's smiling, and he holds out his hand to her. Emma takes it like it's a habit, like that's just where her hand _belongs_ when she's with him, and she can feel warm, rough skin against her palm, his thumb stroking the back of her hand as their fingers lock together.

"You took your time, darling," he says, that lilting accent so familiar to her ears and yet so _foreign_ at the same time, like a part of her life that she loved and lost. Like that day by the seaside.

_It took me forever to get here_, she wants to say, but she can't speak so she leans into his arm to feel the heat radiating off of his body. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her against him, and she soaks up his warmth and closes her eyes, sliding one hand around his waist and the other up his back to grip his shoulder. _I'm here now, though_.

But Emma knows that it won't last. The moment is too perfect, and Emma Swan doesn't _get_ perfect – she gets broken, temporary, accidental happiness because she herself is broken. Temporary. An accident.

_You're going to leave me again,_ she thinks, and already the distant sound of birdsong is being muted in her ears as her body stirs in the waking world.

"I'm not the one doing the leaving, love." He turns so their bodies are facing each other, and he brings up his hands to cup her cheeks. Something about that gesture is off, a tiny detail irritating her, but she can't quite catch it with her fingers before it slips away.

He's looking into her eyes and he's touching her face like she's the only thing in the world that matters. No one has ever looked at her like this, no one has ever touched her like this – not even Neal, but that was ages ago, so long that all she remembers is the brief fire of young love, a tiny spark compared to the flame that's burning in her when she looks into the pirate's deep blue eyes.

_He's a pirate, then?_

It's her dream, so yes, he's a pirate.

_A captain_.

_I don't want to go – I want to stay here with you. If I wake up, I'll forget you again._

He brushes away her tears with his thumbs and presses a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll find you," he says, bending his head forward.

The moment his mouth is on hers, Emma wakes up.

* * *

Killian opened his eyes and pressed his fingers to his lips, trying in vain to capture the feeling of the dream. He was sweating, the sheets twisted up around his legs, blankets halfway on the floor and angled the wrong way on the bed. It took him a moment to remember where he was, unaccustomed to waking in the vast emptiness of the room, the enormous bed, his head lying on soft feather pillows…

He sat up with a sigh, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Emma never spoke in his dreams, just found a few moments of comfort in one another's presence until they woke up, so her silence wasn't what bothered him. Until that night, they'd never touched. But tonight the gods were cruel; he could swear he felt the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath in the small shared space between them before the dream went up like smoke.

"Bloody hell," he said, untangling himself from his bed and pulling on his clothes. He didn't bother with a jacket; the night air was refreshingly cool as he walked barefoot onto the stone terrace outside his chambers.

The palace was still mostly in shambles, but there were a few livable spaces that remained, and Snow White and her Prince Charming insisted he stay with them. Every night he slept there, he dreamt of Emma. He had hoped she was bound to the _Jolly Roger_, but it seemed her spirit was determined to haunt him wherever he went. The spiteful pirate he had once been wanted to curse her name and banish her into oblivion; but the lonely, broken man he was now needed her too much to send her away.

Regina said she'd found a way to get back to Emma's world, but there was only enough magic for one trip, one person, and the last few days had been nothing but a stream of endless debates about who should go.

Regina wanted to find her son, and while no one doubted that she could, with a new threat rising off to the west they could not afford to lose the sorceress even for a day. They needed her magic, so the former queen had to stay behind.

(Killian wanted to bring up her budding romance with the archer as yet another reason for her to stay behind, but he knew better than to test the woman's patience.)

Snow and Charming, despite their desire to find their daughter and grandson, knew that they were needed in the Enchanted Forest. Neal, then, was the most likely choice, and almost everyone agreed that he should be the one to go.

_Almost_ everyone.

Earlier that evening Killian had watched, dumbfounded, as Prince Charming rose from the heavy wooden table in the council hall and suggested they send _Hook_. The pirate's mouth fell open when Snow seconded the suggestion, meeting Killian's gaze with a confident look of her own, and he felt completely unworthy of it at the time. Charming, too, looked at him as angry voices rose up around them, Neal's being one of the loudest, and the prince gave the pirate a half smile and a nod that silenced any protests he'd been preparing for himself.

He knew he wasn't the man for the job – if anyone was going to help restore Emma's memories, surely it was her former lover and father of her son. Killian was a pirate and Swan was a princess, and despite the way he felt about her, he had no business interfering with her happiness.

And here he was, on the eve of his journey, shaking and nervous and unable to get her off of his bloody mind. He raked his hand through his hair and looked out over the valley below, watching the treetops bend in the breeze.

Swan would not remember him – Regina explained that the potion would restore her memories, but she had to drink it willingly. Forcing it down her throat would have the opposite effect, permanently erasing any existence of her previous life and cementing in her mind the new memories she'd been given.

And then there was Charming's advice…

_True Love's Kiss_.

Killian had laughed when the prince mentioned it, but the man's face held an intensity that the pirate had never seen before.

"You're not serious," he said, dropping every hint of amusement until nothing was left but the bored, empty stare that he forced onto his face. He wanted to hope, bloody craved it like a man dying of thirst craved drink, and his heart grasped for any shred of it from the moment Charming said the words; but Killian quickly crushed it, burying it deep so he couldn't hear it anymore, because false hope was worse than no hope at all.

"I am. True Love's kiss can break the curse – right now it's our best chance against the Witch."

"I don't know what you've heard, highness, but there is no understanding between your daughter and me."

"Do you love her?"

"What does it matter how I feel? Swan…" Killian's frustration laced his voice with the tiniest hint of anger, but Charming made no sign that he'd noticed the change. The prince had been a good friend, but he was quickly approaching a line that tested the bounds of that friendship. He wanted to shout, to make the tight, heavy burden in his chest obvious to anyone who would listen, but when he spoke it was quiet and calm, betraying no emotion.

"Whatever your daughter's feelings _were_ at the time of our parting, she kept them to herself."

"I didn't ask about Emma's feelings, Jones. I asked about yours."

Killian's heart sank somewhere near his feet. The use of his name was jarring, bringing up memories long since buried and long thought forgotten. He scratched at an eyebrow with his thumb, trying to find the right words and realizing that there were none. Nothing he felt about Emma Swan could be summed up in a sentence. Had he been born with a talent for words, he still couldn't have penned a poem worthy of her.

All he could do was sigh and look the man in the eye, his words heavy with brutal, crushing honesty that he knew he would come to regret. "Were I a better man with a better heart, I could not love her more."

Charming took a step closer to Killian and smiled.

"That is why it _must_ be you."

* * *

Emma takes the day off Friday and spends it out. She shops, she has lunch with a friend, she takes a walk through Central Park – anything to keep her from moping around the apartment, because if she's there she'll think of _him_, and _he_ doesn't exist. It's been two weeks and she can't stop thinking about him, but as much as she's tried to convince herself otherwise, he's not real. He's something that her subconscious mind has made up, probably because it's been so long since she's dated anyone, even longer since she's had sex. She hasn't been touched by a man in years, and it's slowly making her crazy – that has to be it.

Emma picks Henry up from school and takes him to his favorite restaurant for dinner, and then to a movie. She tells him he's been good lately, that he's doing good in school – which is true, but her excuse is not entirely _honest_ – and that it's a reward for his good behavior. He's ecstatic, and he distracts her for the rest of the night.

Until they get home, that is.

Henry is exhausted and falls asleep immediately, and she is left alone sitting on the sofa with a cold cup of tea on the coffee table, and an unopened book on her lap. She stares out the window and watches as it starts to rain, water dripping in long lines down the glass, blurring the lights of the city until they're flares of color without any meaning.

She's not afraid to sleep.

She's afraid of waking up.

. . .

This time they're on a ship. It's rocking slow and steady with the rise and fall of the ocean, and all she can see out the cabin windows is endless deep blue, the same color as the eyes of the man in the bed across the room. He's lying on his stomach watching her, his head resting on his arms, and there's only moonlight to guide her to him, filling the small but cozy room with an ethereal glow that emphasizes the pale skin that normally hides beneath his shirt. She knows she's naked, under the blankets, but so is she. He's a stranger to her, and yet here in this place he is intimately familiar with her body.

He's wearing a secret smile as she walks toward him, and again he holds out his hand to her. This gesture, it's something she associates with him now, always reaching out for no other reason than to touch her.

And then she's in his arms, suddenly aware of how cold the room was and how warm he is, so she snuggles up against his side and wraps herself around him, arms and legs basking in his heat. Her hands are lightly drawing circles over his bare skin, up his arm and then down his back, pressing love into him with every brush of her fingers. She can feel scars on his skin, raised marks that she's never asked about because there is never enough time, but she wants to know about them, wants to hear the stories that pain marked him with, wants to use her hands to erase whatever hurt still lingers there until he remembers nothing but pleasure.

_I hate this part,_ she thinks, hugging him closer. She knows it isn't real, but the delicious way her body aches says otherwise, and she lets herself drown in the feeling, relishing the brand new sensation of being loved so well.

"I know, love. So do I." He shifts in her arms and kisses her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, and his breath is hot on her skin.

_I wish you were real._

He stiffens in her arms, and for a moment she's worried he's going to leave her, so she tightens her octopus grip around his torso, clinging to him and closing her eyes tight so all she can do is _feel_ him, afraid if she looks at him again she'll wake up and he will be gone.

"Emma," he whispers, and it's the first time he's ever said her name, so she opens her eyes. He's looking at her with an intensity that makes her heart hurt, and he pulls her so hard against his body that they're lined up from shoulder to knee, nothing between them but the night.

"I will find you…" he promises, and she starts crying because it's happening again. She tries to cling tighter but she's grasping at the empty air, and the cabin is slowly filling with shadows, blocking out the moonlight and starlight.

. . .

When Emma wakes, she's still crying.

* * *

Killian didn't beg her, didn't lie to her, didn't force her. He knew those tactics wouldn't work on Emma Swan, false memories or not, so he was honest with her, and offered her the potion with a shaking hand, unashamed of the fact that he was terrified she might say no.

She frowned up at him, doubt clear in her gaze as her eyes flicked back and forth between his, like she was corroborating two different stories. Whatever she saw in his expression must have made her decision for her, because she sighed and took a step closer to him, and Killian instinctively reached out to her, barely stopping himself before his hand touched hers.

"You're insane," she said, and it was at least the fifth time she had said it to him that day, but he didn't care because she was staring down at the tiny vial in her hand, chewing on her bottom lip.

Suddenly he couldn't hide the hope he felt. It flooded through his veins, pumping hard with every beat of his heart until it filled every inch of him, and when she glanced back up at him he knew that she could _see_ it in his eyes and he _prayed_ that it wouldn't frighten her away.

Her eyes grew wide, and she opened her mouth to speak. Instead of saying anything, though, she popped the cork with her thumb and downed the liquid in one go, and Killian watched her throat move as she swallowed every last drop.

And then he waited.

It felt like a lifetime. Like three lifetimes – he knows from experience.

Emma blinked a few times, like something was blurring her vision, and then…

"Hook?"

And then she was in his arms, and after a few moments he swore he could feel her tears on his chest, but he didn't say a word because he was crying, too.

* * *

That night, long after Henry is asleep (and very excited to be going to the Enchanted Forest to save his family like a proper hero), Hook is sitting on her sofa in her living room, wearing a t-shirt and some sweatpants she picked up for him. It's domestic and strange, but she feels warm and _happy_ when she looks at him.

He's _here_. Her dreams had started the moment he showed up in Storybrooke – well, what was left of it, anyway – and he'd been searching faithfully for her that whole time.

"You weren't kidding," she says, and he looks at her. Really, truly _looks_ at her, and Emma is overwhelmed by how much she _missed_ that look.

"About what, love?"

"You said…" She feels funny saying it out loud, because just _thinking_ about his parting words makes her heart jump in her chest. She hopes she's not blushing as much as it feels like she's blushing. "Before the curse hit…you said that you would…think about me, or whatever. And here you are."

He offers her a small smile. "I'm a man of my word, Swan," he says awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. He leaves the rest of the conversation unspoken, but they both feel it lingering in the air.

_I thought about you every day, missed you every day, longed for this moment for a year while you were living here in your false memories. I kissed you the moment I found you because I thought it would break the curse, because I _wanted_ it to break the curse, because that would mean I wasn't alone in feeling this way…_

She moves closer to him, and she's surprised by her own boldness, but for some reason his hesitation gives her courage. He's laid his heart out on the table several times over, bearing his soul to her more openly than she could have asked for. He's the one who held out his hand to her, waiting for her to take it.

So she does.

Emma leans in and presses a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling his body tense, his breath catching in his throat. She whispers _thank you_ in his ear as she pulls away, and when she is far enough from him that she can look into his eyes again, they're blazing, somehow bright and dark at the same time, full of heat and promise and something that neither of them are ready to name just yet. Distantly she wonders, if she'd given herself to him before the curse hit, would she still have forgotten him?

"Emma," he says, closing the distance between them as he cups his hand to her cheek and lowers his head to hers. He brushes his nose over her cheek, sliding it along her jaw, heat blooming in her chest before spreading out through trembling limbs. When his lips finally find hers, there is restrained hunger in the way he kisses her, tugging gently on her bottom lip with his teeth, his tongue seeking hers as he tilts his head and brings his hand around her neck, guiding her where he needs her so he can deepen the kiss.

Flashes of a stolen kiss bubble to the surface, but this is so vastly different than it was in Neverland. There it was the heat of the moment, a spontaneous act that could just as easily have been passed off as a whim – but this? This is passion with intent, this is fire and she's the kindling, slowly being lit from the inside out by the slide of his tongue and the gentle movements of his mouth on hers. He's thorough and attentive when he kisses, soft groans escaping when they part long enough to lean their heads to the other side, his hand a warm presence at the back of her neck, like he's grounding her.

If he's trying to keep her grounded, he's doing a terrible job, because right now she feels like she's flying.

Emma feels him smile, and she mirrors the movement, backing away and pressing her forehead to his. "You found me," she says, and he chuckles and nods. "And you tried True Love's kiss to break the curse." He nods again, his smile widening, and she nudges his nose with hers, letting her lips barely touch his as she speaks.

"Maybe you should try it again sometime."

* * *

**Review? :)**


	9. A Light in the Darkness

**Another tumblr prompt that led to a little angsty Killian smut. ;)**

* * *

Killian Jones was not a patient man when it came to sex.

It hadn't always been that way. With Milah he enjoyed taking his time, making love late into the night, their bodies rising and falling like the sea – but that changed when she died. Now everything he did was calculated, brutal, hard, a product of the ice that had frozen over his heart.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Swan—he _did_, of course, he _loved_ the bloody woman, and once she got her memories back she had returned his affections more warmly than he ever could have expected. Emma took him in her arms with smiles and kisses, and whispered things that would make the sanest man go mad with desire, things that had him pushing her back against her bedroom door, lips meeting in a sloppy, frantic kiss that made him desperate for her skin, grinding his hips hard into hers so she could feel how badly he needed her.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He felt it, and he _had_ already said it, if not in so many words – but the truth was, as much as he wanted to give her permission to tear down the walls around his heart, he couldn't find the words for it. He knew she deserved more than that, but the way she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her fingers trembling as she ran them over his bare chest, was distracting enough to make him forget that, for now.

The _sex_, though…he couldn't change that. His body told him it had to be hard, had to be fast, had to make her scream or it wasn't real. So he used his hook to tear through her clothes, grinning as she twisted her fingers in his hair while he used rough, callused fingers and a practiced tongue to bring her over the edge the first time. She came hard, muffling her cries with the back of her hand as she rocked against him, breathless and boneless and lazily stroking his hair as she came down from her high.

And now here he was, trying not to look her in the eye as he positioned himself between her legs. He knew Swan was watching him, he could feel her gaze on him, but he couldn't handle her eyes yet – he knew they would be shining bright and green and alive in the dim moonlight that filtered through the windows.

She brought her legs up and wrapped them around his hips, drawing him in closer, running her fingernails up and down his arms until it made him shiver. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Emma give him a quick little nod, and Killian bit his lip and thrust inside of her, harder than he should have because she let out a little grunt and scrunched her eyes shut, gripping his shoulders tight. He waited for her to look up at him again, waited for her to tell him it was okay to keep going. When she finally did, when she gazed up at him and smiled, he made the mistake of looking back at her.

_Gods_, she was beautiful.

Her eyes were luminous and full of that same flicker of hope that his own black heart had long since abandoned, and he held her gaze until _not _moving became unbearable. Burying his face against her neck he pulled out and thrust in again, settling into a rough rhythm that filled the room with groans, hard sighs, and the slapping, sliding sound of skin against skin.

He was so caught up in the sensations of warm and wet and tight that he didn't realize what she was doing until it was too late. She put her hands on his hips and pushed him out of her, taking advantage of his momentary surprise and confusion to roll them over until she was straddling him, flushed and sweaty and giving him a teasing grin.

He wanted her to get going so he could watch her come undone, watch the way she would move over him, but she simply hovered there with that patient smile and slowly raked her hands over his chest before following the motion with her lips, placing warm, wet kisses over his chest, teeth biting lightly at his nipples, her hips dangerously close to his.

Killian groaned and thrust up against her, hinting at what he wanted, but she only chuckled and sat up a little to look him in the eyes. "Easy there, captain…we have all night, you know."

She didn't understand. It wasn't a matter of having the time – they had forever, as far as he was concerned – it was the depth of her gaze, like the bloody _sun_ just before it rises over the ocean, an emotion that lingered just out of sight. It was the weight of the moment that drove his hips into hers again, that made him grip her hair and pull her down so he could kiss her, his teeth tugging hard on her lips as his body conveyed the message that words could not.

Emma moaned at the contact, and slowly lowered her hips onto his, brushing against him but staying painfully, purposefully out of reach. "Slow down, Killian," she said softly, sliding her lips over his jaw to his ear. She tugged his earlobe with her teeth and Killian groaned, the hand in her hair gripping tighter as she kissed her way down his neck, over his shoulder, his collarbone, and then repeating the process all over again on the other side. It was driving him mad, sending heat through his veins like liquid fire, threatening to consume him body and soul. He wanted her everywhere at once, above him, beneath him, surrounding him.

"Not slow," he whispered, releasing her hair. He trailed his fingers down her spine, around the curve of her hip, between her legs to where she was wet and hot and_needing him,_ and he rubbed over her clit with his thumb as he slipped two fingers inside of her. Emma dropped her head, letting the air out of her lungs in a sudden rush and a quiet "_huh_…" that made her arch over him, her hair falling like a curtain around them.

Killian thought he had her, then. Thought he'd distracted her enough to take control.

He was mistaken.

Emma lifted her head and sat up, throwing her hair back over her shoulders, and she suddenly had his wrists pinned next to his head. There was an edge to her gaze, now, something desperate and intangible mingling with her desire. She took stuttering breaths, and Killian could see her pulse racing in her neck that said she was just as tense, just as _hungry_, but she kept her eyes on his, steady and sure, and as much as he wanted to he couldn't look away as Emma slowly lowered her hips to his, putting both of his wrists beneath one hand as she moved the other to guide his cock inside of her. Once he was there, she quickly replaced both hands over his, keeping his arms still. It was an illusion, of course, the restraint – he could have broken free any time he wanted, could have rolled her onto her back and ravished her the way he needed to, hard enough and fast enough to take her breath away as he rode her over the edge.

But for some reason, once she had settled over him, once he was inside of her as deep as he could go, once she let out that tiny moan and closed her eyes, letting her head fall ever so slightly to the side as she adjusted, all Killian could do was watch her. Instead of bouncing, Emma glided over him, tilting her hips and arching into him as she moved, unbearably slow, her breasts sliding over his chest, skin against skin, heat against heat.

"Slow, Killian." Her voice was a whisper that made his body sing, that made his heart leap in his chest as she rode him, every inch of him aching beneath her.

It was too much, and it wasn't nearly enough.

The angle wasn't quite right, so Emma released his arms and placed her palms flat on his chest, arching her back just so. When she finally opened her eyes, Killian was still watching her face, watching the quirk of her eyebrow as she slid over him again and again, the subtle change in her expression when he hit that spot deep inside of her that made her groan and bite her lip. Killian put his stump of a left hand on her hip, and brought his right hand up to her face to touch her cheek. It was so unlike him, so soft and gentle, and the foreign gesture sparked something inside his chest, something unfamiliar yet painfully nostalgic, something long forgotten but only recently discovered.

"_Emma_," he said, surprised at the reverence he wrapped around her name.

He bent his knees behind her, enough to plant his feet on the mattress, and this time when she ground down onto his cock, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips into hers. Not hard, not fast, not any of the things he wanted—this was just as slow as her movements, gentle like the tide, just enough to heighten their pleasure, enough to stoke the fires hotter. Emma let her head fall back with a quiet, "Yes, _Killian_," and then she looked down at him and murmured encouragement, guided his hand over her body, and Killian lost himself to the sway of her hips, the way her shoulders hitched at the end of each downward motion, the way the muscles in her thigh flexed and relaxed beneath his hand.

She was making love to him, and gods help him but his heart bloody _ached _for it.

The angry pirate that he used to be, the part of him that still lingered in the darkest corners of his heart, rebelled and screamed at him to move faster, to take her hard because that's all he was good for – but that voice was blocked out by the sound of Emma whispering his name, and he surprised himself by answering her call, "Emma…_Emma_…", worshiping her with his body, sliding his left forearm over her leg, up to her hip, running his palm (_he'd never wished for his other hand more than he was right now_) from her thigh over her stomach, up to her chest, letting it rest over her heart where he could feel it pounding hard, alive and strong and beautiful.

Suddenly he was _there_, just on the edge, so he sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows, still moving slowly but giving himself a better angle to maneuver. Emma's hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling his body against hers until he sat upright and they were glued together from shoulder to hip, still rising and falling in time with the ticking of the clock. She moved harder, still slow but now it was forceful, demanding, taking him in so deep his vision blurred. He rubbed her back and kissed every inch of skin he could reach, his lips skimming her neck and her shoulders until all he knew was the taste and the sound and the smell of her. And then Killian felt her body rise, tight and strained, arching her back as she shattered around him, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her and held her close, burying his face against her chest as she continued to rock against him, her climax dragging him into oblivion.

He lost track of how long they stayed like that, clinging to one another as they caught their breath, but he felt her painting his forehead with soft kisses, her hands stroking his cheeks and running through his hair, soothing him, and he barely had time to realize what had just happened when she tilted his face up to hers and kissed him again, lazy and heated, and somehow he felt content, the bitter, angry voice in his head gone with every touch of her hands, every whispered word.

Killian thought then, when she looked down at him with those deep green eyes that carried years of pain and loneliness in them, that she knew what he'd been doing all along – that she'd understood and, rather than let him _take_ her like he wanted to, she _gave_ herself to him, demanding softness and tenderness and exposing a part of him that he'd kept hidden from the world for so many years.

Eventually he fell onto his back and she fell with him. They lay sprawled out on the bed for a long while before either of them had the energy to speak, listening to the faint sounds of the city outside her bedroom window. Eventually he caught his breath. Eventually he was quite sure he would live. Eventually he found the words he wanted to say.

"I love you, Emma Swan."

It came out as easily as breathing. He'd hinted at it, skirted around it like a bloody coward, his actions all but shouting the sentiment though his lips found every way to tell her that he loved her without ever truly _telling_ her that he loved her.

He half expected her to flee, to make for the door and never look back, but she sighed and rolled into him and brought her lips up to his neck to kiss him softly once, twice, and then lifted her head so she could look him in the eye. She was smiling, her cheeks scrunched up and her eyes sparkling like he'd never seen them, and Killian pulled her body tight against his, not caring that they were both covered in sweat and sex, simply needing to _feel_ her.

"I love you, too."

* * *

**Review? ;)**


	10. Turn Me Around

**tumblr prompt for smut that includes the line: "Mind if I cut in?"**

**(Genius prompt, btw!)**

**I promise they're not ALL going to be smut. This one is. They won't all be though. :)**

* * *

He probably should have knocked louder.

Not that he regretted how things turned out, but all things considered, as he lay there covered in sweat, trying to remember how to breathe, he admitted to himself that he might've tried just a little bit harder.

Killian forgot his coat at Emma's apartment. He hadn't done it on purpose – it wasn't his leather coat, he wasn't used to his modern clothes yet, _that's _why he forgot it. He was stuffed into a pair of denim trousers and a button-down shirt that fit nice enough, but they weren't _his_ clothes and something just felt off about them. Although he _had_ noticed Emma's eyes widen when she saw him in his new attire, giving him a lingering once-over that sent heat through his veins and made him stand just a little bit straighter.

He knocked on the door and waited, anxiously bobbing back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet. He waited, and…waited…and waited. He knocked again, and would have tried the doorbell but she'd mentioned during dinner that the thing was broken.

She was probably still washing dishes and couldn't hear him. (He'd offered to help her after dinner, but she refused, saying she had some things to do first, she'd get around to it later…she was quick about dismissing him, so he left without argument even though it stung a little that she was so anxious to get rid of him.)

He'd offer to help again – Killian Jones, offering to wash a lady's dishes just to spend more time with her. Gods, he'd offer to _lick_ them clean if it meant being around her.

Though he'd rather lick _her_, if he had a choice…

If she would ever answer the bloody door, that is. He tried the handle, and it opened with a soft creak.

_Dangerous ground_, he thought to himself.

Entering a woman's home without permission? Bad form.

Entering _Swan's_ apartment without permission? She'd probably shoot him, at the very least knee him in the groin again. He shifted uncomfortably at the memory, and took a deep breath before slowly pushing the door open and sticking his head around.

"Emma?" he said, looking around, but the apartment seemed to be empty. His coat was there on the chair – he'd just grab it and leave.

But the second he stepped inside, he heard a sound coming from the upstairs bedroom that stopped him dead in his tracks, sparks igniting his blood. It was faint and sporadic, but when he heard it again he was sure of it.

Swan was _moaning_.

"Emma?" he said again, a little louder, but she still didn't respond.

_Just take the coat and leave, Jones. Don't do it, don't –_

Killian closed the front door, wincing when it clicked shut, but Emma didn't seem to hear it because the apartment was silent but for the occasional soft, feminine (_but surprisingly_ _throaty and gods above it made him hard_) groan that floated down through the open bedroom door.

He crept up the stairs and stealthily peered into the bedroom.

Swan was sitting at the edge of her bed, shoes kicked off and legs spread wide, her knickers down around one ankle. For a moment, Killian was confused, but _only_ for a moment because then his brain caught up and _really_ took her in.

Her black dress, sinfully tight number that it was, had slipped from one shoulder – or was pulled down, in order to accommodate the hand that was currently massaging her exposed breast, toying with her nipple – and she'd hiked it up around her hips, so it was still hugging her curves in all the right ways while leaving almost _everything_ bare. Her other hand was dipping inside of her and then drawing quick circles between her legs, her eyes closed tight, head rolling back and then falling forward as she moaned, and the sound and the sight of her so caught up in her own pleasure had Killian's heart racing and his hand clenching into a tight fist at his side as he stood frozen in the doorway.

_You should leave_, he thought, but then she tossed her head back again with a heavy sigh and her fingers picked up the pace, and suddenly his feet were moving before he could tell them not to.

"Mind if I cut in, Swan?"

Her eyes shot open, and the flush already present in her cheeks quickly deepened and spread over her neck and chest, dipping down below the neckline of her dress, covering her exposed breast with a beautiful shade of pink that Killian wanted to taste on his tongue.

"Kil – the _fuck_ – what are you…?"

He caught a glimpse of a taut pink nipple as she yanked her dress back up over her chest, but he had already crossed over to the bed by the time she started working her knickers back up her legs. She slapped his hand away when he tried to cup her chin, but he persevered and grabbed her jaw firmly in his hand, slowly falling to his knees so she was taller than him. He could practically _feel_ her arousal, see it in the tension of her shoulders and hear it in her labored breathing, and he was straining against his trousers, desperate and aching.

"Killian, I – I just," she started, but he shushed her and shook his head, smiling wickedly as he moved his hand from her chin to her shoulder, where the strap of her dress still hung loose. She stayed quiet as Killian traced her bare skin with rough fingertips, paying attention to how she shuddered and closed her eyes. She must have been terribly close when he interrupted her – her skin was hot to the touch, electric and _alive_ with need.

His fingers slid down her arm, and his hook wrapped around her other wrist to bring both of her hands in front of her. She was watching him intently, still slightly embarrassed but oddly silent as her eyes scanned his face, waiting.

"Bloody hell, Swan, you could unmake a man with those eyes," he said, and then gently guided her hands to her thighs, sliding them up between her legs to where he knew she was still wet and throbbing.

"Don't stop," he whispered, genuine in his encouragement as he let his eyes wander down between her thighs. Her body was mostly covered by her dress now, but he could see her thighs trembling, her fingers itching toward her center. He caught her underwear with his hook and slowly slid them back down her legs, feeling a sense of pride at the way her knees twitched and her toes curled into the carpet.

"If I'd known you needed this, I would have stayed, love." He met her gaze and smiled as his fingers moved up the top of her thigh until they met the hem of her dress, and with his eyes fixed on hers he pushed the dress up until it would go no further. Emma gasped, a soft breath that made him swallow hard. She furrowed her brow slightly, looking for the lie that wasn't there.

"I want to watch you, Emma." His hand moved beneath the dress, cupping her hip, moving back to firmly grip her bottom, giving it a soft squeeze and a slight pull, coaxing her closer to the edge of the bed.

Emma instinctively parted her thighs on either side of him, and Killian couldn't help but look down to where her hands were slowly starting to touch her wet folds, pink and perfect and clearly aching for release. He looked back up at her, and her expression softened for a moment before it shifted into something far more intense. There was heat and desire now, and she moved even closer to him. All he had to do was lean forward and he could kiss her. So he did.

When their lips met, it was everything it had been in Neverland but without the restraint. While his tongue slipped into her mouth to taste her, his hook moved to rest under her thigh and his hand moved to hers, coaxing her into action. He tilted his head to the side and went in for more, swallowing her quiet moan when she began touching herself.

He broke the kiss and looked down, watching her practiced fingers moving over her clit, dipping into her own wetness and sliding it over that perfect bundle of nerves. His breathing was hard and heavy, matching hers, and he reached down to unbutton his trousers to give his hard length a little relief. Emma groaned, tearing his gaze away from where she was working herself, and he watched as she bit her lip and threw her head back, every tiny gesture based on instinct, something she couldn't control.

She was gorgeous – he'd never seen her lose control like this, and he wanted to see it again and _again _and _again_.

"Killian," she moaned, and he growled and yanked down the neck of her dress, freeing her breast once more, that perfect nipple still hard and begging as he gave it a flick of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, teasing at it with his teeth.

Emma sighed and bucked her hips into her hands and mumbled his name under her breath. He slid his hand down her body, between her legs where she was touching herself, and he dipped two fingers into her slick heat, just enough to make her quiver, her motions faltering for half a second before she resumed her work. He pushed even deeper and watched her come undone – first knuckle, and she was whimpering, moving to try and take him in more; second knuckle and she was bucking her hips, urging him on with pleased sighs; when his fingers were finally fully inside of her, and he curled them just right so he could rub against her, she grabbed his hair and forced his head up, the slippery sounds of her fingers mashing against her clit mingling with the rhythmic thrusting of his fingers as they moved in and out.

Killian felt a hot rush of victory as her body slowly curled in on itself as she chased her release, and he urged her on, his voice low and rough, his breath hot on her skin. "Relax and come for me, darling. You're so lovely like this, Emma, blushing and soft and warm…"

And with a few more jerks of her hand and a few more thrusts of his fingers, she was coming hard, and he could feel her inner walls gripping his fingers tight as she clenched and unclenched around him, groaning out his name like a curse, like he'd caused her physical pain.

"Good girl," he said, kissing her chest and neck and rubbing the cool metal of his hook over her thigh in soothing circles as she rode out her climax on his hand.

He pulled his fingers out and made sure she was watching as he licked them clean with a smug grin, loving the look of satisfaction on her face as her body relaxed.

"You're an ass," she muttered, but her eyes were smiling, watching his tongue work over his fingers as he rose to his feet, pulling his shirt over his head without bothering to unbutton it. Her legs were unsteady as he pulled her up with him, but he held her close, wrapping his arm around her waist to bring her body flush against his.

"Are you fond of this dress, Swan?" he asked, sliding his hook under the strap to tug it down her shoulder.

She seemed to pick up on his train of thought, and she shook her head and shrugged. "I can do without it."

With a few strong tears and a loud rip, he used his hook to split her dress down the middle. She rolled her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and Killian spun her in his arms. He pulled her hair away from her neck and pressed kisses along the top of her spine, reaching around to fondle her breast as he bit down on the soft flesh of her neck and sucked hard, determined to leave his mark on her skin.

"Please," she moaned, restlessly shoving her hips into him.

Killian had thought a lot about what their first time might be like – probably too much. He'd imagined candlelight and romance and hours of lovemaking; moonlit caresses on the deck of his ship, miles out to sea where it was just the two of them and the night…

He'd imagined this, too, but never thought it would actually happen this way, bending her over on her bed and fucking her senseless.

_And yet_…

He slid his trousers down far enough to get his cock free, stroking it a few times as he knelt behind her. When he slipped inside, she gripped the bedding and moaned at the intrusion, and Killian bit his lip to quiet his own loud groan as she tightened and stretched around him.

"Gods, Emma…you're a bloody inferno…" he said, rubbing the palm of his hand up and down her spine as she adjusted to his length. She arched her back a little, shuddering when he slid just that much deeper, and then she sighed when he was finally fully inside of her.

"You should have let me take care of you sooner," he went on, setting a rough but smooth pace, resting his hand on her hip as he thrust in and out, his hook stroking her back, his voice breaking with every jerk of his hips. "_Fuck, Emma_…I've wanted this…" He groaned loud when she pushed herself hard into his hips and his cock hit her deep, and he could feel her legs trembling beneath her but he was _so close_…

He swallowed hard and pulled out of her, ignoring the way she whined at the loss. He rolled her onto her back and crawled over her, albeit awkwardly because his trousers were still slung low on his hips. She spread herself for him and sighed, but her eyes went wide when he curled his fingers under her knee and lifted her leg up to rest over his shoulder. Her other leg wrapped around his waist, and this time when he pushed inside of her there was nothing smooth about the way he was fucking her, every move he made designed to give her pleasure, every muscle in his body screaming for _her_ release, not his, because he wanted to feel her come around him, wanted to watch her writhe and cry out his name.

"I've wanted you like this for so long," he said, "wanted you bare and open…" And then speaking took too much effort, so he settled for the sounds of sex, the pounding of his heart, the way Emma moaned and sighed with every other push, the way she arched her back farther so his chest rubbed against her breasts. She was tilting her hips into his with every thrust, meeting him as well as she could, and he sped up, bracing himself so he could bring his right hand down to rub at her clit. Emma practically screamed his name, digging her nails into his back, bringing her heels into his ass to hold him impossibly deeper.

"Emma, look at me."

She moaned but kept her eyes screwed shut.

"Emma, bloody_ look at me_."

The unintended emotion in his voice, the desperate way he said her name was enough to make her open her eyes, and once she was staring at him he was done for. He came hard, crashing into her with a few more erratic thrusts, his world turning shades of white and black as he poured himself into her.

Distantly he felt her tighten around him, heard her murmuring his name over and over as she lifted her hips, arching her back until they were pressed skin to skin and he could feel her heartbeat in his chest.

His weight fell on hers, sweat-glazed and sated and _exhausted_, and for several long minutes they lay in silence, catching their breath. Killian kissed her neck, paying special attention to the red mark he'd left on her skin. He tried – _and failed_ – not to smile about that, and she was slowly running her fingers up and down his back, splaying her hands over his shoulders.

"That was…" she said between breaths.

"Not bad – for our first time," he finished for her, and she gave a tired laugh and brought her hands up to run through his hair. When he had enough energy to push himself up onto his elbows, he looked down at her, taking pride in the fact that she looked positively _wrecked_.

She'd never looked lovelier.

"That was pretty smooth, you know."

He raised an eyebrow. "What was?"

"That whole 'unmake me with your eyes' thing. That was good. I liked it."

Killian smiled and captured her lips with his, waiting until she was breathless again before pulling away.

"Give me a few minutes, love, and you can unmake me again."

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**Review? )**


	11. Just Like That

**Remember how I said no more smut for a while?**

**Haha! Yeah, that was funny. . .**

**This is just pure smut, in which a part of Killian's body receives some appreciation from a certain sheriff named Emma Swan. **

**I blame tumblr for this. 100%. )**

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Killian loved rum. He loved it enough that when he'd traded a shitload of gold for a magical flask that refilled itself with whatever liquid you put into it, he immediately thought of rum.

He also loved the sea. The way she rose up underneath you like a lover, the way she tossed and twisted in a storm, the way she howled and snapped at the _Jolly's_ sails, the way she tried to seduce wary travelers into her deep, dark depths. He loved it because it was untamable and wild, like a woman - a creature with a mind of her own who would just as soon send you to your ruin as she would be your saving grace.

And he loved the _Jolly Roger_. She'd been the only constant since he lost his brother, since he lost Milah, and there were centuries of memories tied up in the old girl that he would have given his own blood to preserve.

But Killian would have given up every single one of those things for this moment, to have Emma on her knees like this, her hands on his hips to hold him still, her cheeks hollowing out as she gave the tiniest bit of suction, her tongue working circles over the tip of his cock like it was a fucking _treat_.

She didn't say a word when she showed up on his ship, just closed the door to his cabin without so much as a "hello" and went immediately for his trousers. She started with her hands, working in long, slow strokes to get him good and hard as she guided him back against the wall of his cabin, his head hitting the wooden paneling with a soft thud. She was already on her knees before he could stop her.

Not that he would have stopped her – not after she put her mouth on him and reminded him how perfect it felt, that combination of warm and wet and soft and _fuck_.

"Emma," he said, lifting his hand to rake through his hair, and then gently touching her face, his trembling forefinger brushing over her cheekbone.

_Trembling – Killian Jones did not tremble, damn it_.

She looked up at him without stopping, her eyes darkened by lust and brightened by mischief as she took him in a little deeper. Killian bit back a groan as he watched his shaft disappear into her mouth. "Love, you don't…_gods, Emma_…" His head fell back again and he shut his eyes, focusing on the way her warm hands wrapped around the base of his cock, the way she bobbed over him, the way her elbows brushed against his thighs as she moved. She hummed, and when her throat vibrated against him he cursed and reached down, grabbing hold of her hair, threading his fingers into her golden curls and gripping tight to keep himself grounded as he fought to stay on his feet.

Emma pulled away and licked her lips, and Killian whined and tugged on her hair, his body still craving the warmth and wetness of her mouth. "Stop holding back," was all she said, and then she rolled her tongue over him, sliding it along the underside of his length as she took him into her mouth again and sucked hard.

Killian let out a sharp breath, hips jerking forward until he felt himself at the back of her throat. She swallowed and he moaned, mumbling her name as he began thrusting into her mouth. He tried to be slow, tried to be gentle, but the way she was encouraging him with those deep, throaty sounds of hers made it all but impossible, and soon he found a rhythm that was somewhere between agonizing and perfect, just enough that the pressure was steadily building but not so much that she couldn't take him.

"Emma, I…" He looked down at her, her eyes closed, brow slightly furrowed as she focused on what she was doing, and Killian's chest suddenly felt tight. "Gods, you're beautiful, Emma."

Her eyes opened, and for just a moment she faltered, almost letting him slip out. But she smiled around him, pulling back enough to swirl her tongue a few times and make him see stars, and this time when he thrust forward she was all business, fingers squeezing the base of his shaft as she gave him enough suction to get him going. His fingers stroked her head in time with the movements of his hips and she watched him as he relaxed and chased his release, head buzzing, skin electric as he came with her name on his lips, his head falling forward as the floor seemed to drop out from under his feet. She swallowed, the tightening of her throat serving to draw out his orgasm.

He was dizzy and panting, struggling to catch his breath as she licked her lips and tucked him back into his trousers, standing up slowly with a wicked grin on her face that could have rivaled one of his own.

"Emma," was all he could say, and then she was kissing him hard, sliding her tongue over his so he could taste himself in her mouth. He leaned into the kiss, trying to come to his senses enough to repay the favor, but she was already backing away.

"My break's over," she said, stopping at the door to smile and blow him a kiss. "We're having dinner at Regina's at seven. Don't be late. Love you."

And then she was gone, and Killian was torn between chasing after her and laughing. Eventually he decided on the latter, rubbing his hand over his face and raking it through his sweaty hair, still in shock.

Emma Swan had just shown up on his ship and given him mind-blowing sex, all the while treating it like it was a bloody _game_.

Fortunately for him, Killian was very good at playing games, and this was one he intended to win.

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**Reviews are always appreciated. :)**

**(And you guys who give me pretty regular reviews, I've been terrible at thanking you but THANK YOU SO MUCH! Seriously, I appreciate every bit of feedback that I get!)**


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